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Chapter Seven

C harlotte

It’s the heat that wakes me. I’m so bloody hot.

I reach out to throw off the blankets…and then remember.

What the fucking hell did I do?

I slowly open an eye to find myself sprawled across Hendy. My face rests on his chest and his arm is slung around my back. And I’m pretty sure his erection is digging into my leg that is somehow over the top of his muscular thigh, the soft hairs covering it tickling my skin.

I listen to the sound of his steady breathing, the gentle rise and fall of his chest. It seems he’s still in a deep sleep, which means I have a chance of sneaking out of bed without notice if I can carefully peel myself off of him.

I make small, minuscule movements to extricate myself from the heat of his body inch by inch, stopping several times when the tempo of his breath changes. He mumbles something incoherently as he shifts to his back, and I am able to free myself completely. His head lolls to the side, and his breath turns into a light snore.

Okay, now is my chance to gather up my clothes and leave, putting distance between what happened with us last night.

I pause to pick up my panties from the floor, then realize my foolishness.

This is my room--in my house-- dammit ! I can’t do the walk of shame from my own home.

I drop the panties and cover my face with my hands, disgusted with myself for my lack of self-control.

It wasn’t alcohol intoxication that had me making this stupid decision. I wasn’t pissed enough from the beer I consumed to lose my faculties to consent to sleep with Joel.

Oh no. I slept with Joel because I wanted to. Plain and simple. My body took over the minute he gave me that cocky-assured smile of his across the pub table.

And then what?

Oh yeah, I practically launched myself at him and then brought him back here.

Memories suddenly return to me like little kernels of popcorn popping in my brain.

The laughter that bubbled up inside of me as we left the pub and the moment I decided to say, fuck it and throw caution to the wind, kissing him in a parking lot where anyone could’ve seen us.

The feeling of Joel’s skilled fingers slowly sliding my panties down my legs and his lips trailing up the sensitive flesh of my inner thigh, his tongue and fingers slipping inside my wet heat and then pumping languidly as he sucked on my clit.

And lest I not forget, that instant when he flipped me over onto my stomach and slammed inside of me, thrusting so deep that I nearly saw stars and then did see them when he played my swollen bundle of nerves like a musical instrument. Especially when he pulled me over his face and lapped at my pussy like I was the best thing he’d ever had.

Damn him.

He’s the best lover I’ve ever been with. The sex last night was even better than I remember from the ski trip.

He’s in a league all his own.

Whether it’s from the stamina gained from playing football or just his youthful virility this man does things to me that no one has ever done, taking me to the precipice and back again, over and over, until I am a limp noodle.

The man gifted me with multiple orgasms using his tongue and fingers and that was before his very impressive dick even got involved. It’s very well possible Joel Henderson has a magic cock.

Speaking of which. I glance down at the tented sheet covering his morning wood. There’s an irrational part of me that wants to take him in my mouth and let him fuck my face until I’m swallowing his release down my throat. Or maybe he’d yank me off my knees before he comes, toss me on the bed and then thrust into me while holding my legs wide, just like he did last night.

Fuck, that was so hot.

Why did sex with him have to be so good? Is it because he’s absolutely off-limits to me? Or perhaps because I secretly love that he’s younger and I find that sexy?

Joel is literally the whole package. He’s the type of man I dream of meeting—cockiness and all. It’s that component that makes him seriously hot.

Stop calling him hot, I chastise myself, slipping on yoga pants and a T-shirt and leaving the room to go in search of my trainers.

I’ll go get some coffee and clear my head. Give myself some space away from his sexy pheromones that obviously make me a total twat.

With no lectures on my schedule this morning, I’d been planning on spending this morning holed up in my office to work on my research paper, yet here I am, arguing with myself over the conundrum I’ve put myself in.

I finish lacing my shoes when, as if on cue, the sound of the toilet flushing draws my attention to my bedroom door. A moment later, Joel stands in front of me in nothing but his jeans. My hungry gaze zeros in on the “V” of muscle tapering low, covered with a thatch of dark hair disappearing into the waistband. The terrain my tongue explored last night. My mouth salivates.

His thumb loops in that waistband and he leans his shoulder into the door jamb. The action tugs his jeans further and skyrockets his sexy meter up from a hundred to a thousand. He smirks at me knowingly and I look back down to my shoes.

“See anything of interest, Professor?” he teases.

I practically growl. “No. In fact, I need to go. I have a conference call in a bit. I need to leave. Feel free to have a coffee,” I say and haphazardly motion to the one-cup coffee maker sitting on my counter.

“Okaaay…” An eyebrow quirks up suspiciously. “And you’re going to go on to campus in running clothes?”

I glance down at my choice of clothing and grimace. I’ve obviously been caught in a lie but now it’s too late.

“It’s just a call.” I wave my hand and stand up, turning toward the door.

He snickers and grabs the T-shirt he threw on my couch last night, pulling it over his head, and slips into his shoes. “Well, let me walk you.”

“No, it’s fine,” I blurt out quickly, probably too quickly. “I need time to think…alone…about my research paper.”

I don’t even say goodbye, I just start running the minute I’m off my front porch, hoping he won’t follow me but secretly wishing he would.

Gah. What is wrong with me? I’m giving myself mental whiplash over these feelings I have for Joel. I cannot in good conscience see him outside of class and then, once the semester is over, we won’t ever need to speak again.

My mind flashes back to the way his tongue swirled around my nipples last night and I groan to myself. Who am I kidding? This man is my kryptonite. How in the hell am I going to be able to stay away from him?

My phone is in hand and my earbuds in, so I call the one person who can talk some sanity into me.

“Poppy?” I say as she answers.

“Are you dead?” she asks.

“I’m literally calling you, so no,” I grumble. Sometimes Poppy’s sarcasm can reach levels that almost annoy me. Only sometimes. Like now, when I’m madder than a hatter at myself for falling back into bed with my student.

Oh, Sweet Jesus. I am such a stupid twat.

“Why are you a twat?” Her voice interjects over my self-flagellation. “I’d call you more of a wench.”

Shit, I said that out loud.

“Piss off,” I say. Her cackling laughter burns a hole in my ear. I stop and bend over at the waist, placing one hand on my hip, and take a fortifying gulp of air. “I need you to talk some sense into me and tell me to act like an adult.”

She’s quiet for a beat. “You didn’t call Oliver in a moment of loneliness, did you?”

“No, absolutely not!”

“Okay, well, it can’t be worse than that,” she says matter-of-factly. “So, what is it? Who’d you sleep with? And was it good?”

“Oh. My. God… so good,” I respond pitifully.

She laughs and I roll my eyes. As much as Poppy wants me to have fun, she also knows how much this job means to me.

“I slept with Joel again.”

Dead silence.

This time the pause is more than a beat. I hear her suck in a breath.

“I’m sorry…what did you say? I think I just heard that you slept with your student again?”

After the first day of classes, I’d called Poppy and told her about the whole sordid ordeal. How I called him into my office afterward and laid down the law and how he willfully ignored it.

“I met with Hubert last night at a local pub and Joel showed up and then one thing led to another and suddenly I was kissing him and I brought him home,” I finish in one long breath.

“Let me see if I got this straight. You fucked a rando on a ski trip last spring. Then, that rando turns out to be one of your grad students, who you’ve expressly forbidden yourself to interact with outside of class, and then you fucked him again last night?” she recounts incredulously. “Is that correct, Professor Butler?”

I mentally flip my best friend off but grant her the acknowledgment. “Yes, you are correct. It was a complete mistake,” I reply as I stop in front of a bench and plop down on it. I lower my head into my free hand and twirl the lanyard with my campus ID and key ring around my thumb. “I regret I made a horrible and irresponsible decision and it will never happen again.”

Even as I say the words, I wonder how I’ll manage to keep this promise to myself and to Poppy when I’m face-to-face with him every week inside my classroom for the remainder of the semester?

“That’s so hot,” she answers, choosing to ignore my need for counseling advice. “And also really fucked up. I’m so proud of you, Lots!”

I heave a sigh of exasperation. “Damn you, Pop. Don’t be proud. Be disgusted. This is a complete clusterfuck made of my own bad decision-making and I’m not sure how to reverse the effects.” I run my hand through my hair, a mess of a reddish crow’s nest that I’ll need to wash before my next meeting.

“So, just tell him you’ll fail him,” she suggests breezily, as if that’s the ethical answer to this unethical problem. “He’s probably a moron, anyway, being that he played American football.”

A few students pass by me on the pathway and I wait until they’re out of earshot to speak again.

“That’s not ethical, you know,” I whisper. I can’t do that to him if he does the work. I will not let my personal feelings color my role in academia.

She blows out what I assume is smoke from the cigarette she still smokes. “Then threaten to go to the dean and acknowledge the past affair.”

“Fuck no!” I yelp and cover my mouth, glancing around surreptitiously to make sure no one heard that. I lower my voice. “What if Joel retaliates and does that to me ?”

“Hmmm…well, I don’t know. Do you like him?” I can hear the gravitas in her voice and know the question is sincere.

“It doesn’t matter. I’m not risking everything I worked for, not for anyone,” I say with an air of sadness.

“Okay, I guess that settles it then. Move on and upwards. By the way, what’s Hubert doing out there?” Poppy asks, completely catching me off guard.

“He was a guest lecturer. And…” I trail off, considering her other question. Do I like Joel? Yes. I really do like him. At some point last night, in between rounds of incredible sex, he pulled a Charles Dickens book off my nightstand and started quoting from it, from memory and then gave me an opinion on the theme. It turns out the football player is very smart. I suppose it makes sense since he’s in a grad school program.

“And yes, I like Joel. There, I said it. If I weren’t his professor, I’d want to see more of him. Ugh. Why does this have to be so complicated, Pop?”

“Complications aside, I think you have your answer,” she says. “You little slag, you.”

I huff with indignation. “I am not a slag.”

Oops. I may have said that a bit too loud because a pair of female students walk by, whip their heads in my direction, and giggle as they walk on. Shit . I can’t be caught cursing and swearing like a sailor around students.

Just then my phone buzzes with an incoming text from an unknown number. I pull my phone away from my ear and click on it.

Unknown: Coffee is good…but it’d be better in bed, naked with you.

Shit, it’s Joel. I forgot I gave my students my mobile number so they could contact me with any questions during the semester. My cheeks flush and a pang of lust hits me in the center of my legs.

“Lottie? What’s happening?”

“He just texted me,” I state dryly, taking a screenshot to send her. “It’s what I feared…he’s not going to give this up.”

It’s obvious when she sees the text because she whistles. “Hot damn. I like his vibe.”

“Poppy! Focus!” I chastise, wondering if I’ll even get good advice from her at this point or if she’s just going to keep pushing me toward Joel.

Poppy has been known to give me very good advice when I’ve needed it. After all, she was the one who talked me into leaving Oliver and coming to the US, the best decision I could have ever made.

But she seems a bit hung up on me pursuing this thing with Joel.

“Well, you have two choices,” she asserts. “You can report it to the dean and hope there are no repercussions, or you keep having amazing sex with your student on the down-low, in a clandestine affair.”

“I don’t like either option,” I admit, even though the second option sounds very tantalizing probably because it’s forbidden.

“Okay, then maybe tell him you’re going to divulge it to the dean and see what Joel says. It could push him to decide to drop your class after all.”

I consider the merits of this action. It’s not the worst idea.

“Okay. I’ll give that a try. Can’t hurt,” I agree.

Or it could sting like a sonofabitch.

We say our goodbyes and I text Joel back with my reply.

Me: This ends now. Please stop with the suggestive flirting. I’m going to talk to the dean tomorrow.

There’s an immediate response.

Unknown: I see. Well, that’s bad.

Unknown: And you know that bad girls get spanked, don’t they?

Unknown: Oops. Sorry. Was that suggestive, Professor?

Unknown: I guess that means we have one more night to be bad together.

Damn him. He went in for the kill shot.

His dirty talk is a huge turn-on. Maybe I have a kink and never knew it until Joel showed up in my life.

And maybe this forbidden game of rule-breaking that I’m playing with him is what has me excited about something, or someone, for the first time in a very long time.

I love a good game.